The Quirks of Skyhold
by Athina Blaine
Summary: The Inquisitor discovers some of the more intriguing peculiarities of the Keep - much to the distress of its residents.


The slow, aching burn, crept through Blackwall's arms as he tossed his shield and sword onto the stable's workbench. Those blasted new recruits didn't know the first thing about how to balance offense and defense. Half of the damned session was spent teaching them how to effectively use a shield in battle without slicing off their toes.

That's the last time he lets the Commander talk him into training new recruits. _Mark my words, Cullen, I won't forget this the next time we play Wicked Grace._ The memory made him chuckle. Blackwall dragged the stool over to the workshop bench, moving the weapons to the floor, and retrieved the carving knife and the wooden statuette from a nearby drawer.

After a few moments of peaceful silence, a sturdy mass crashed through the roof. The horses whinnied in shock, bucking in their stables. Blackwall jumped to his feet, holding out the carving knife in a clutched fist. _Sweet Maker, we're under attack—_

His thoughts were interrupted by a distinctive cough. _Is that …? No, it can't be …_ Taking a few steps closer, Blackwall recognized the pale head of hair and small shoulders. The panic drained out of him, only to be replaced by raging concern. "Inquisitor! Andraste's ass, what happened to you? Are you all right?"

Pocketing the knife, he fell down onto his knees. His hands hovered over her broken body, unsure if he would dare lift her up. She coughed again and, _thank the Maker_, her eyes fluttered open.

"Blackwall? I'm…I'm not…" She touched her stomach and chest, breathing deeply. She tensed up, as if bracing herself for a punch. She must be in so much pain. I have to get the surgeon.

"Don't move, Elaine. I'll find help." He made to stand, but paused when she grabbed his wrist.

"I don't … I don't think that will be necessary?"

The words didn't register at first since they were so unbelievably absurd because you don't fall through a roof and walk away unharmed, but the Inquisitor only tightened her grip. Blackwall placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "This isn't the time to put up a front. You need to—"

"Blackwall, I'm fine," she insisted with greater confidence, shifting in the pile of rubble. A small, relieved smile formed on her lips. "Look at me. I'm fine."

Put off by her steady tone, he took a moment to inspect the Inquisitor's condition. Not a single scratch marred her body. Impossible. That's damned impossible. Her limbs should be twisted and broken, her face should be marred with blood. She shouldn't … she shouldn't be smiling, at least. "How … how did you manage …?"

Elaine held out her hand and he hoisted her to her feet. Not even flinching, she patted the debris off her shirt as if she didn't just fall through a bloody roof.

"I was practicing my Fade Step up on the battlements when I lost control and fell." She glanced at the towering walls that surrounded the fortress. "I thought I was done for; did the whole life flashing and everything." Her lips twisted downwards. "I have more regrets than I realized; especially the bits with the rabbit."

"That's a two story fall, Inquisitor," he interrupted, eyeing her suspiciously. _Could she be delirious?_ "It'd be a miracle if you weren't hurt." There remained a chance that she had just gotten frighteningly good at hiding her pain. But there's still no visible injuries …. _Then again, she's already a walking, talking miracle._ "You need to go to the surgeon; there could be an injury we can't see, or maybe adrenaline is blocking the pain. Don't take any chances."

She didn't acknowledge his comment for a moment, staring at the battlements. "You're probably right." Blackwall failed to recognize the curious gleam in her blue eyes when she looked to him. "Yes, I'll go now. Sorry about …" she gestured towards the rubble, tweaking her fingers sheepishly. "… all that. I'll help you clear it up later."

"Andraste's Mercy, woman, don't apologize for nearly breaking your neck. I'll deal with this. Go to the infirmary before I have a damned stroke."

Elaine inclined her head with a soft smile and trotted out of the stable, leaving Blackwall alone with his thoughts. Damn that woman. She'll drive me to the brink. Part of him wanted to accompany her to the infirmary, make certain she was alright, but he dismissed that urge. _The Inquisitor can handle herself without me trailing after her like an overprotective mother bear. I'll leave her to it._

Retrieving the carving knife from his pocket, he righted the stool and returned to his statuette. A few moments of trembling hands and anxious thoughts, however, made it clear he couldn't possibly relax, at least not now. Sighing, Blackwall placed the carving and knife back in the drawer, stood, cracked his neck, and made for the tavern. _A cup of ale will calm my nerves, Maker forbid she fall through the roof there too._

…

_I wish Blackwall wouldn't worry so much. I told him I'm fine. Besides, a trip to the infirmary would just make everyone worried. Cullen would be beside himself if he knew I fell, and Cassandra, well Cassandra would never let me walk again, I figure._

_But again, I'm fine. So why worry?_

Later that evening, as the setting sun threw bright colors of orange and red across the expanse of the sky, Elaine stood on the western battlements, resting her elbows on the cold stone. The garden had cleared out ages ago, leaving the area devoid of prying eyes. It's exactly what she wanted even as a loud voice in her mind screamed crude, panicked affinities.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! This is the most ridiculous plan you've ever had in your entire life! Worse than that time you booby trapped First-Enchanter Frederick's walking stick. You are literally, willingly throwing yourself from the top of the battlements just because you got lucky when you threw yourself off earlier!_

Elaine scoffed, pushing off the wall and pacing about the walkway. _First of all, I did not throw myself, I lost control of the spell and tumbled off. Secondly, it was more than just luck. I didn't feel anything. I didn't even have a single bruise when I should have at the very least broken my leg._ She glanced down at the ground again. It was just far enough away to cause her respectable damage should she fall, but not enough to kill her. Good. That's good. _And thirdly, altering First-Enchanter's Frederick's walking stick was not my idea, Johnathon dared me. Besides, the bastard deserved it, what with him smacking the apprentices all the time…_

She could almost hear her better judgment flail with exasperation, but she tuned it out. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Elaine climbed onto the wall and sat down, tapping the stone nervously.

_Well, here's for science._

She took one final, steadying breath, and pushed off.

For a moment, Elaine experienced the terror of weightlessness. Her stomach lurched and she choked down a scream. The moment ended. Her feet connected with the solid ground and her legs buckled. Pain ricocheted up and down her body and she bit her lip to keep from screaming.

A second passed and the sting all but vanished, save the gnash on her lip. Relief swept through her in the absence of pain, only to be replaced by intense shock. Nothing. I feel nothing. She stood up and stared up at the wall where she had just been sitting.

It … it wasn't a fluke._ It wasn't a fluke. I can't … I can't take fall damage in Skyhold. How is this possible? Could it be some lingering magic? Is it reacting to my mark? I have … I have to try again, from higher. Maybe the Circle Tower? No, that's too high, I need more data first. The library? Too populated, but maybe if I create a distraction…_

Elaine's mind buzzed with possibilities as she returned to the Keep. Life at Skyhold was about to get more interesting for everyone.


End file.
